In other words, you can lead a horse to water
but the bear, well, he eats you. Where do you go
from there? That's the burro in the valley waiting
for you to chinook your way down the holler
hillside. The deer that narrows across the road
to grok the other side chills, innovating
more intimately than most of us ever
will again. Nothing rocks north like a crow.
Get on that horse and cross-saw through the hate
of flies. Swat away time; anything clever
you cased inside, bandana, pack, and unload:
smoke out the force of comfort to contemplate
that patient valley burro who doesn't care
whether you dustle down or swivel in your chair.
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